


Take the Pain

by eratothemuse



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Lahey!Reader, NSFW, Oral, Oral Sex, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, not safe for work, slight dubcon, trigger warning, unprotected sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-14
Updated: 2018-12-13
Packaged: 2019-09-17 23:57:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16984230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eratothemuse/pseuds/eratothemuse
Summary: At the lowest moment of your life, you find yourself cornered by the Nogitsune.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was inspired by this imagine [Imagine being Isaac's baby sister and having your virginity taken away by Void!Stiles] on [ImaginesTeenWolf] and can be found on their blog [here], as well. I wrote it before I made this blog, but now that I have somewhere else to put it, I’m uploading it here.  
> \- Meg <3 xx

You had always been good at hiding your pain. You hid it from your father, who would abuse you, and you hid it from your brother, who went through it with you.

The only difference between you and Isaac was the fact that he wasn’t left with the immense self-loathing that weighed on your shoulders after your father was killed by the kanima.

You’d hated yourself ever since you could remember. Your body curved in all the wrong places, your grades were always lacking in school, and it didn’t help any when your father solidified any insecurity you ever had about yourself. When he died, you had hated yourself for being happy he was gone.

Isaac had been the only one keeping you going. You’d been in the thick of it together, and he would take the brunt of the abuse to keep you from getting it. He was your big brother, after all.

You hated yourself for getting him into trouble.

When he became a werewolf, he had more to worry about than just you. With the threat of your father no longer there, you found yourself spending more and more time alone. It never felt right to tag along after Isaac and the rest of the pack.

You’d just get in the way.

The scars on your thighs increased the longer you were alone with yourself. Alone with your thoughts. Alone with the hatred. The more problems that arose in Beacon Hills, the worse it got.

You hit your lowest point around the time Stiles got possessed by the Nogitsune.

Looking back now, you’d say it was the unintentional turning point in your life.

That was the day you’d decided to end it. The day you were finally going to let Isaac go. Let him be happy and not have to worry about you ever again. He had Allison now. He had the pack. He had a family. He didn’t need an awkward, dysfunctional sister to ruin that for him.

You were going to make his life easier.

You’d decided to do it in the bathtub. You honestly hadn’t wanted to do it in the McCall’s house at all. You didn’t want to make a mess. You couldn’t do it in the woods, though, because then they’d waste time searching for you.

So the bathtub it was.

When you’d lowered yourself into the tub and rolled up your sleeves, razor at the ready, you heard it. A small chuckle coming from the shadows of the adjoining bedroom. You froze, peering into the darkness to meet a dark pair of familiar eyes.

“Don’t stop on my account, my dear,” he called, leaning on the wall in an almost nonchalant manner.

You flushed in shame, attempting to hide the razor behind the barrier the tub provided before answering, “Stiles? What are you doing here?”

“I could smell your misery since the moment I took control of this boy,” Stiles pushed himself off the wall and made his way to the door adjoining the two rooms. “Your pain,” he spat as he came to stand in the threshold, “Your hatred.”

“S-Stiles?” you whispered, but you knew the thing standing before you was no longer your friend.

“You’re the perfect picture of chaos,” a smirk crossed Stiles’ lips before he quickly advanced on you. Your scream died in your throat as he gripped your neck, pulling you up from the tub. You dropped the razor in place of grabbing the hand that had soon pressed you against cold tile, making it difficult to breathe.

“Those idiots couldn’t sense it. They couldn’t see how broken you are behind those half-hearted smiles you give them. How much you just want to disappear. Well,” he steps into the tub, pressing the length of Stiles’ body against yours, “I noticed.”

You shiver as he nestles his nose into your neck, inhaling deeply, “I can smell it on you.” You feel tears brimming at your eyes and let go of the hand at your neck. This wasn’t the way you’d planned on going, but if he wanted to do the job for you, you weren’t going to stop him.

“Do it,” you feel him pull back and meet his sickly eyes with your own, “If you’re going to kill me, just get it over with.”

The Nogitsune laughs; a full, hearty laugh that reminds you of how Stiles would laugh whenever he was genuinely happy, “Kill you? You think I’m here to kill you?”

Your brow furrows, “Aren’t you?”

“Why would I kill the perfect source of pain?” his hand loosens from around your neck, moving to cup your jaw. “Now, take all of that pain,” his lips are just a breath away, “and give it to me.”

You gasp as his mouth connects with yours, and you go lightheaded as it feels like he’s draining the life out of you. You brace yourself on his shoulders and feel him press his full body against you to keep you propped between him and the wall. His knee goes between your legs, locking you both there.

You hear a breathy groan pass between his lips, muffling against your own. His lips crash against yours in what seems like a desperate effort to get more. More of you. More of your pain. Whatever he was taking from you, you found yourself giving it freely as the kiss went on.

He wrenches himself away from you, panting as he wipes his mouth. He keeps one hand entangled in your hair as you look at him in a daze. Your heart is beating ferociously and you’re gasping for air nearly twice as hard as he is. Before you can even think a coherent sentence, he seems to have regained enough composure to grip the back of your head by your hair and roughly pull you to focus on him.

“More,” passes through his kiss-swollen lips as he attacks your neck. You feel that same lightheadedness as he latches onto your pulse, his free hand sliding up the hem of your shirt. As he takes more from you, you find it to be an almost ecstatic feeling. You’re unable to stop the moan that rips from your throat as he bites down, taking blood with the pain.

You feel your hands move on their own accord. They go to his messy hair, gripping him in an effort to just grab onto something. You felt so lost in this moment, as if the only thing keeping you sane were his lips on your body.

“More,” the word comes from your own parted lips this time. What are you asking for? For him to take more of the pain? For him to take more of you? You honestly didn’t know. All you knew was that this was the most alive you’ve felt in years, and you wanted to keep feeling this way.

If this demon was going to give that to you, you’d let him take whatever he wanted.

The Nogitsune seemed to know what you were asking for as his lips disconnected from your neck with a smack and he ripped your shirt off your body in one fluid movement. His hands traveled behind your back, your bra soon following your shirt. Every touch he made seemed to linger, and it wasn’t until he was between your knees, gripping your scarred thighs, that you noticed the black veins that appeared whenever he touched you.

You were still gripping his hair for dear life as he smirked up at you, sliding a hand up your skirt before ripping your panties down to your ankles, “Even now, you’re still in chaos. You’re torn between wanting to feel again, and knowing that you’re supposed to hate me.”

You were about to retaliate when he dragged his index finger along your sex, “After all,” his smirk never faltered as he pushed the skirt up higher, “I am the enemy.” You nearly scream as his tongue darts out over your clit, working its way over your core. You can feel the fox’s grin as he works you over relentlessly, gasps and moans involuntarily ripping from your throat. You know your grip in his hair must be almost painful at this point, but it doesn’t slow him down one bit.

You don’t know whose name to scream out when you go over the edge, panting and writhing against the wall of the bath.

The aftermath of your orgasm is pushed forward by his tongue as he greedily takes all you can give. He detangles your fingers from his brown hair; that damned smirk is the first thing that comes into your vision as he stands upright again.

He leaves you there, in a daze and shivering against the cold tile at your back as he steps out of the tub. He looks back only once as he reaches the door, a Cheshire grin playing at the lips which were only moments before at your most intimate of places.

“Don’t do anything we’ll both regret, my dear. That was the best meal I’ve had in the last five hundred years.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This fic is Part 2 to Take the Pain, which was requested by [this anon] on [ImaginesTeenWolf]’s blog. I hope you enjoy it! I sure enjoyed writing it *fans self*

Despite all he’d done to the pack, you couldn’t help but miss the Nogitsune. The way he could pour pain out of you like water from a tap. The way that in that moment in the bathroom he had made you forget the crippling self-hatred that coursed through your veins. Deep down, you knew that it had been a quick fix. The Nogitsune could never really heal you, and you’d learned at a young age that nothing lasted forever.

Seeing Stiles had only made you feel selfish and guilty. Yet, when his eyes had met yours he didn’t shout accusations at you. He never mentioned what had gone on when he was possessed, so you took it as a sign that he didn’t remember it. A small blessing.

Nonetheless, you avoided him, the burden of your actions too much to face him with. Dodging him was a difficult task living with the McCall’s, but you managed it. Any time he was over, you came up with an excuse to retreat to your room. At school you could slip quickly past him in the hallway, offering a ‘hello’ if you happened to make eye contact.

But as the weeks passed, it became harder to avoid him. The confrontation was inevitable, but knowing that didn’t make seeing him shifting on the porch in front of you any less jarring.

“Hey,” Stiles ran a hand through his brown hair. It looked as if he had done so a few times, messy in a way that could only be achieved from repetitive tousling.

“Scott and Isaac aren’t here,” the words are little more than a whisper on your lips as you stand in the doorway, reluctant to let him in.

“I didn’t come here to see them,” you don’t realize you’re closing the door until his hand shoots out, stopping you, “We really need to talk, (Y/N).” You look him in the eyes for the first time in what felt like forever, hoping he can’t see the guilt that you feel seeping into your stomach.

“W-Why?” you stammer, grip on the door weakening just enough for Stiles to push it open again.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he begins, stepping forward.

You instinctively step back, “I haven’t.” The lie doesn’t sound convincing, even to you.

“You have, and I think I know why,” Stiles shuts the door behind him, “I really should have had this conversation sooner, but I didn’t know what to say.” When he looks up at you, you can see that the elephant in the room has just crashed through the floor.

“You remember it?” it comes out as a question, but the way he tears his eyes from yours tells the answer. A small sound of annoyance slips out between clenched teeth as Stiles tries to find the words to say.

“I remember everything I did when it was possessing me,” another step forward is answered by another step backwards, “I just didn’t want you to hate me, so I pretended I didn’t remember it.”

“Stiles,” you feel the tears prick the back of your eyes, voice catching in your throat, “I hate myself for what I did. I hate myself for wanting it. I’m so sorry, I-”

And then his hands slip up to cradle your jaw, whatever apology about to spew from your mouth dying on your tongue, “Don’t ever hate yourself. And please don’t be sorry.”

The floodgates open as the relief washes through you, gripping his forearms as he holds you to him. Fingers rub gently across your cheeks, pushing the tears away. Sobs and hiccups fill the room as he slips a hand from your face to your back, wrapping you in a hug. You’re grateful that Stiles doesn’t say anything. He just holds you, letting your tears seep into the fabric of his thin t-shirt.

“I was scared you’d hate me, too,” your voice sounds foreign with strain as you wipe the rest of the tears away, pulling back just enough to look up into his brown eyes.

“I don’t. I could never hate you,” Stiles murmurs, pushing away a strand of hair that had fallen onto your face, “I just wish it could have been under different circumstances.”

“R-Really?” heat rises to your cheeks at his confession, and you’re suddenly acutely aware of how close you are.

A matching blush tints Stiles’ freckles as he clears his throat, “The Nogitsune didn’t just go after you for fun, (Y/N). I, uh, I have kind of liked you for a w-while.”

“He did it to mess with you,” you realize, and an awkward chuckle erupts from his chest. A nod is the only true answer you get.

“Stiles, I wish it was with you, not him,” he swallows thickly as your eyes search his. Honestly, you’re surprised at your own bravery, but you feel safe in his arms. He knows more about you than even Isaac does. Shaky hands return to your face, pulling you forward gently.

The kiss is slow and deliberate. Hesitant, in a way, as he gently parts your lips with his own. You’re the one to deepen the kiss, a hand detangling from his shirt to move across his shoulders, pulling him closer. You feel, rather than hear, the shaky breath that fans across your connected lips before he grips your waist.

His mouth moves against yours, gaining confidence with each passing second. Usually you find the McCall house to be a little chilly, but right now all you can feel is the warmth that is Stiles Stilinski against you. Teeth graze against your bottom lip as he pulls back, lidded eyes meeting yours before his kisses slip down your jaw.

“S-Stiles,” you whisper. Why you’re whispering, you don’t know. What you do know is that he seems to move with a sort of untrained caution against your skin; the exact opposite to when he was Void.

The sound of his name seems to pull him from your neck, only to glance over your shoulder, “Couch?”

“Couch,” you confirm breathlessly, taking the hand that intertwines with your own and leading Stiles into the living room. You turn to give him a peck on the lips before pushing him onto the couch. He grins up at you as you climb into his lap, straddling his thighs. His hands come back to your hips, pulling you sharply against him when he feels your lips press against his neck. You pull gently at his hair, getting him to bare his neck as you send open-mouthed kisses along his pulse.

“(Y/N),” Stiles gasps as your lips dance over a particularly sensitive spot right above where his skin disappears beneath the collar of his shirt. You feel your lips twist into a smirk and nibble gently, tormenting the spot. The growing bulge that presses against your thigh doesn’t go unnoticed and you grind into it, hearing his breath hitch when your tongue slides against his neck.

“Y-You’re a tease,” Stiles croaks, hands slipping the hem of your shirt upwards. You disconnect from his neck, a smirk playing at your lips. You raise your arms, staring right into his eyes as he slips your shirt over your head. He takes one look downwards, tongue darting out to wet his lips, before his eyes snap back to your own.

There’s a fire there, burning in those brown irises. It makes your breath catch. The way he looks at you, like he wants to devour you all in that moment.

“Stiles,” you breathe as he leans forward, capturing your mouth in a kiss once more. He’s hastier now; the clothing that covers the two of your bodies being little more than a prison. A hand snakes behind your back as his lips tug at your own. You feel him fumble with the clasp on your bra, an annoyed grunt coming from him before his other hand moves to help. Within seconds, the clasp is undone, and he’s pulling the straps down your shoulders.

Cold air contrasts the flush across your skin, but Stiles’ hands quickly cover the area with his familiar warmth. A gasp erupts from you as his tongue slides down your collarbone, taking its time to find the top of your chest. The pads of his fingers roll over your nipples, massaging your breasts as you writhe in his lap.

He’s wearing too much clothing. You ache to feel his skin against your own, yet you don’t want him to stop doing what he’s doing just to remove that shirt. That god-forsaken shirt. Your annoyance manifests itself in a grunt as you claw at the fabric covering his back, trying to pull it upwards. Stiles’ chuckle fans against a nipple, which he leisurely takes into his mouth before pulling back entirely to rip his shirt from his body.

“Better?” the smirk that covers his bruised lips is wiped away as you slip your hand down to rub against his clothed crotch, feeling him.

“Better, but I think we have more work to do.”

Stiles huffs as you stroke the bulge straining against his jeans, “I-I’ll show you mine if you show me yours?” You roll your eyes at his tasteless joke before sliding back off his lap. Hooking your thumbs into the edge of your pants, you push them down, taking your panties with them. Stiles’ eyes widen in appreciation, letting out a choked sound as you kick away the last of your clothing.

“Your turn.”

He can’t seem to get his pants off fast enough, fingers fumbling with the belt hooked around his hips until he finally manages to get it undone. He kicks off his pants, but as he reaches to pull down his boxers, your hand covers his own. Eyes flicking up to his, you see him swallow when you kneel between his legs. He lifts his hips as you tug at the offending piece of fabric before sliding it off completely. You smile at the freckles that are splattered across his chest randomly as your gaze slides down to the tuff of brown hair trailing even lower.

You reach out and stroke him, smiling wider when Stiles lets out a moan, “Y-You don’t have to-” he begins, only to be cut off by another moan when your tongue slides across his tip.

“I need to return the favor, Stiles,” you murmur before taking him into your mouth. Stiles’ hands grip the edge of the couch, lungs sputtering as you lick and suck around him, pushing him to the breaking point with each bob of your head. What you can’t fit in your mouth, you stroke with your hand.

“(Y/N), oh my god,  _yes_ ,” Stiles groans as you pick up the pace, wet noises filling joining his own gasps for air. You never thought you could enjoy a sound so much, but the way his voice cracks halfway through your name-

Oh, god, was it erotic.

It spurs you forward, and he has to pull you back by the hair, “I won’t be able to hold out if you keep doing that.” He’s flushed nearly everywhere, but the red that has spread across his cheeks is the brightest. He pulls you into his lap, lips smashing against your own in a wet and needy kiss. Neither of you can wait any longer. With a swift movement he’s shifted, moving you to lie under him on the couch.

He pulls back just enough for the sound of his voice to carry between you, “Tell me to stop, and I will.”

“Stiles, I don’t want you to stop,” you arch against him, legs wrapping around his thighs as you feel his length rub against your core.

“Good,” and he’s reaching between you, rubbing your clit as he passes. A finger slides against your wetness before Stiles rubs that same hand along himself, positioning. When he enters you, you let out the breath you didn’t know you’d been holding in the form of a low, breathy moan of his name.

And his hips snap to yours, a gasp hissing through his teeth as he revels in the feeling that is all  _you_. Illicit words spew from his lips when your hips buck against his, urging him to move again. That’s exactly what he does, his head burying itself in your neck as he pounds into you.

“Ah- Stiles!” you squeal as his fingers brush against your clit in time with his thrusts. His eyes snap up to yours, full of mischief as his hips come against yours once more in an effort to hear that sound again. He is not disappointed, as an agonizingly pleasure-filled sound is wrenched from your throat once more.

His fun is cut short when you pull his lips to yours, snapping your hips up to his in your need. It’s your turn to revel in the noise he makes. Stiles growls as he slips a hand under to grip your ass, pushing into you faster.

“I’m close,” you whimper, only getting a moan in return as he grips onto you, desperately thrusting in an effort for release. He’s so warm; a thin sheen of sweat the only thing separating your bodies.

“Come on, come on,” Stiles chants, slipping your name in the mix with a moan. Then, you feel it. The knot in your stomach explodes with the flick of his thumb against your clit. His lips muffle a strangled scream as he rides out your orgasm before his hips stutter against you. Stiles moans into the kiss as you feel him come, warm and wet, inside you. He collapses, chest heaving against yours while you still cling to him, shuddering in the wake of your pleasure.

“That was amazing, (Y/N),” Stiles pants, slipping out of you.

You nod dazedly, “Way better than before.”


End file.
